District 8
by Jocelyn M. Kelless
Summary: My brother made me promise that I would fight to live. I swore to him that I would. And I made that boy promise that he'd let my brother know I didn't turn my back to my killers.


I didn't get much from the Cornucopia, but I wish I had.

It was only the second day in the arena, but I was already in need of food. The backpack I'd grabbed while running from the Cornucopia held only a deadly knife, a thin blanket that wouldn't get me through half the night, since the temperature was dropping rapidly, and three bottles of water; I'd already drank one of the bottles.

Gin had already been killed off at the Cornucopia. I wanted to save him badly, but as soon as we stepped off the plates, it was every tribute for themselves.

I trudged along under the trees, my knife in my hands, just in case anybody tried to attack me, and finally made myself stop. Even with the jacket on and the blanket wrapped around me, my teeth were chattering and my legs were shaking from being so cold. It may not be the smartest thing to do, but I needed to start a fire.

I stopped beside a tree that I could easily climb if I heard anyone and dropped the backpack. I started a fire using friction from the sticks I grabbed and then sat back against the tree, warming my hands and the blade in my right hand at the same time. At least with the heated metal, it would be easier to kill anyone who came near me. Hot metal penetrated easier than cold. And I needed it easy if I wanted to get home to my family.

_"Alli," my brother had told me when he came in to say goodbye. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid. Promise me."_

I'd already broken that promise by building the fire. It _was_ pretty ignorant of me, and he would expect his sixteen year old sister to find a better way to warm herself up than to build a fire.

I knew that the Careers were already together and were ready to kill at the first sign of life. A group of deadly killers who wanted to make it back home just as much as everyone else did and would do anything to get there, were after us.

But I realized my mistake too late.

I didn't even hear them approach, surrounding me at my little camp site. I didn't have time to scramble up the tree before they grabbed me and threw me on the ground, hitting and kicking me. My knife had fallen out of my hand, leaving me defenseless. They didn't want to kill me right away; they wanted to give the viewers at home a show.

One boy, Peter or Peach or something like that, stood a little ways away from the pack that was hurting me. He didn't even look like he wanted to be there, but he was probably doing it to save his own skin.

One sharp kick to my ribs flipped me onto my back. I stared up at the starry sky through the trees. I knew it wasn't real, but at least my final memory would be of the night sky.

One of them spat on my face. I didn't give them the satisfactory of seeing me close my eyes as they killed me, though. I wanted them to know I wouldn't die a coward's death. I didn't want to go down without a fight, though. And I wouldn't die without trying as hard as I could.

I thrust my leg out at one of them and ended up knocking two of them down. A big guy landed on top of me, knocking the air out of my lungs and sending a fiery pain through my torso. I rolled out from underneath him and got myself to my knees, punching and kicking at them as hard as I could. At least my brother would know I didn't die without fighting.

_No!_ I yelled at myself. _You aren't going to die! Have a little confidence! FIGHT!_

But I was outnumbered. There were six of them, counting Peter/Peach, who still stayed out of the way while they killed me. "Help me!" I wanted to yell at him. "Don't just stand there!"

He just stood there, though, staring at me pitifully.

One of the girls pulled out a knife and the boy, the one from her district, yanked me up by my hair. I kicked my legs out and caught a few of them in the shins, but, eventually, I just hung there, clutching at the boy's hand that held me off the ground by my hair.

My eyes narrowed angrily at the girl as she held up her knife. "This will only take a minute," she said, smirking. "Any last words, District 8?"

I spit the blood from my mouth onto the ground, knowing it would only be a more painful end if I spat it in her face. "Go to hell," I snarled, kicking one leg out at her. I caught her in the hip and made her stumble back a few feet; my brother would've been proud of me.

After regaining her footing, though, she stepped forward and, with a clean swipe, she slit my throat and the boy dropped me.

I clutched at my throat for a moment as blood spurted out of the wound. After a few moments, I forced myself to lie still; if I played dead, maybe they would leave and let me die in peace.

"Let's go," one of them said. "They need to shoot off a cannon and then get her body."

"Fine," the girl who slit my throat said. "We'll go wait."

Their footsteps walked away quickly, but I bet they didn't go far. They wanted to make sure that I was completely dead; one less tribute to fight later.

One hand around my throat, I used the other and my legs and tried to drag myself over to the backpack. I'd put the picture of me and my family in there and I wanted to have it with me when I died.

But I only made it halfway before I heard the footsteps again. My hand brushed at the rough fabric of my backpack when I saw his shoes. It was Peter/Peach, the boy tribute from District 12.

He came closer and knelt beside me, leaning his head down until he looked me in the eye. What? Did he want to be sure he did the job right when he killed me or did he just want my eyes to haunt him forever?

"I'm sorry," he muttered. I glared at him for a moment before softening my eyes. I pointed at my backpack shakily.

"What?" he asked quietly, looking back and forth between me and the backpack. Getting the message, he started digging through the pockets until he found the picture of my parents, brother, and me. On the back, it said _Lydia, Dany, Gabrien, and Allisyn_. He handed it to me and I clutched it to my chest with the hand that wasn't trying to stop my neck from bleeding out.

"If you see me brother," I spewed, my throat gushing more blood as I tried to talk. I didn't even know if the boy could understand me. "Tell him I tried."

Peter/Peach nodded slowly and pulled out his knife. He moved the hand with the picture from my heart and, staring at me pitifully and sorrowfully, he stabbed me in the heart.

And I let myself go to the stars.


End file.
